


The Kiss of Death

by ASongOfPetyrBaelish



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongOfPetyrBaelish/pseuds/ASongOfPetyrBaelish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In their last moments, people show you who they really are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kiss of Death

She was nothing but a shadow; an apparition of the one he used to love so dearly; a wraith, born in blood and flames of vengeance. Her once beauteous face had withered and the cut on her throat, deep and brutal, it provided a glimpse to the abyss of death. Blue eyes, once honest and innocent, vibrant with a glint of life and mirth, now they reflected nothing but lethal frost and fury.  
She didn’t speak; he guessed that she couldn’t. She approached him, soundless like a spider, intimidating like an abnormity. His bearded chin was lifted by a single long digit placed beneath it. Only then did their eyes meet and he came face to face with death. It didn’t frighten him. How long had it been since they were close? How long since she had touched him? It felt like another life, when he was no one but Petyr Baelish, the ward from the Fingers. He took a deep breath. The flowery aroma he remembered was replaced by the odour of carrion. He searched her gaze but it was emptier than he had ever been.  
Her free hand pressed against her throat, cold fingers curling around the rotting flesh. A sound came out of her mouth; no, not a voice; a sound, one that could only belong to an abomination of nature; to a monstrous presence that had embraced death and darkness and didn’t stop when it returned to the land of the living.  
“Choose one. Hanging, poison, knife, fly.”  
He could barely make out the words but once he did so, tranquillity came over him. There was something blissful about the expectation of death; perhaps it was its certainty.  
“Your kiss, please” he muttered calmly, and though he strived to see, there was no emotional response on her face. The ice residing in her eyes overwhelmed him and he smiled ever so faintly.  
Within the next heartbeats, his eyelids fell shut and his mouth accepted the frosty lips that pressed to his. He didn’t recognise the taste. It was peculiarly sinister and vulgar. He looked for affection in her cruel kiss but there was none. In that moment he realised that she was always going to be unattainable.  
She hadn’t pulled back yet when she stabbed him. The edge of the dagger sliced through his chest and pierced his long-bleeding heart. The taste of blood came to his mouth; he choked and spat a few drops that dyed her lips with a deep scarlet shade. She pulled the dagger out of his flesh, leaving a bloody stain spreading on his golden doublet. She stepped back and their eyes met again. He was smiling weakly but on the edge of his right eye there was a mist that soon streamed down his cheek and disappeared in his stubble; a tear.  
He looked at her as he fell and murmured “Cat” as the bright blood came flowing out of his mouth and chest. He collapsed and his dying grey-green eyes watched her walking away without looking back. The spark of life in his irises faded and then there was nothing.  
Nothing.  
Love had carved a lifelong scar on Petyr Baelish’s heart. Power and ambition never managed to cure it; only the kiss of death did.  
Then there was nothing.


End file.
